What’s Killing Your School Culture (And Why Nobody Wants to Talk About It)

Last summer, our family decided to remove the trees from our backyard. They were beautiful, but we couldn’t ignore the risk. Over time, their roots had grown too close to the house, and the potential for damage outweighed the reward. It felt like the right move.

What I didn’t expect was what lay behind them.

Hidden in the shadows of those trees was a thick system of vines and brush that had been growing quietly, out of sight. Without the trees shielding them, the tangle of growth was suddenly exposed. I figured that with so much of it gone, the rest would wither.

So, I left it alone.

But nature doesn’t work like that. And neither does culture. I thought by removing what was visible—the towering trees—the hidden growth beneath would just take care of itself. But the vines didn’t die. They adapted. They spread. Unchecked, they became even more tangled, threatening the foundation I was trying to protect.

This is what happens in our schools when we assume removing the “obvious” issues is enough. When we think a new slogan, a staff t-shirt, or a one-off PD session will clean up what’s been growing unchecked for years.

Culture isn’t built by what’s visible alone. It’s what happens behind the scenes—quiet patterns, unspoken norms, and overlooked practices that either strengthen or strangle our community.

Too often, school leaders misdiagnose what’s really needed. We rush to apply technical solutions to deeply adaptive challenges. While we focus on the visible spirit weeks, celebrations, and feel-good moments, we overlook the deeper work—the roots. In doing so, we allow the silent killers of culture to grow unchecked, slowly unraveling the very community we claim to be building.

1. Performative Positivity

When I walk into a school, the aspirational vision is clear. Banners are hung with the desired messaging, celebrating "every child." We hang banners that say "All Are Welcome" while removing the kid who doesn’t conform to our dress code. We celebrate student voice during assemblies, yet punish dissent in classrooms. We shame students while claiming to help them shine. Our culture, which is rooted in appearance rather than authenticity, is a ticking time bomb.

We love a good spirit week. Matching outfits, themed days, and high-energy pep rallies that echo through the halls. We call it “culture.” But too often, it’s camouflage.

We preach inclusivity on posters while enforcing rules that target identity. We shout affirmations in assemblies, but shut down students when they express frustration or dissent in the classroom. We hand out “Student of the Month” awards while ignoring the daily experiences of the students who never feel seen, heard, or safe in our hallways.

This kind of positivity isn’t empowering—it’s performative. It asks people to smile while they’re shrinking. It prioritizes appearances over authenticity. And the danger? We start believing our own hype. We think the t-shirts and hashtags mean we’re doing the work, when in reality, we’re avoiding it.

True culture isn’t loud. It’s consistent. It’s measured in who feels safe to speak up and still feels loved afterward. It’s in who gets the mic, and who gets the benefit of the doubt. If your positivity requires silence to survive, it’s not culture—it’s control.

2. Misaligned Accountability

We tell students to take ownership of their actions, but rarely do the same as adults. A student shows up late and gets a tardy slip. An educator shows up late to duty and gets a chuckle in the staff lounge. A kid forgets a pencil and gets penalized. A teacher forgets to submit grades and gets grace.

This isn’t just hypocrisy—it’s a blueprint for resentment.

Culture starts to rot when the rules bend for adults and break students. When we measure students by behavior and adults by intention, we create a hierarchy of accountability that erodes trust. And here’s the kicker—kids notice. They may not say it out loud, but they see every double standard we model. And eventually, they’ll stop playing the game.

If we want students to be reflective, accountable, and growth-minded, we have to model that first. Not perfectly—but consistently and publicly.

If you never have to apologize in this work, you’re not doing it right. Education is a human endeavor, and humans get it wrong. The danger isn’t in the mistake, it’s in the refusal to own it.

3. Compliance-Based Leadership

There’s a version of leadership that checks every box. Quiet halls. Clean transitions. Dress code enforced. Lesson plans uploaded. On paper, it looks like culture. But dig beneath the surface, and what you’ll often find isn’t community—it’s compliance.

We mistake order for ownership. We confuse silence for satisfaction. And we think we’ve built buy-in, when all we’ve really built is a fear-based rhythm that keeps people in check, not invested.

Here’s the truth: control feels safer. Especially when you inherit a culture of mediocrity. When expectations have been low and accountability soft, it’s tempting to swing the pendulum hard in the other direction. We tighten systems, raise the bar, and demand results. And sometimes, that pressure does spark movement.

Pressure without purpose eventually breaks people.

The real challenge of leadership isn’t building compliance—it’s balancing compassion and accountability. It's holding the line without hardening your heart. It's pushing for more without depleting the people you're called to lead.

You have to do the hard work of building a culture where high expectations are matched with high support. Where staff aren’t just managed—they're developed. Where students aren't just regulated—they're respected.

Control might change behavior. Only trust changes culture.

Ask yourself: Am I leading for impact or just managing for order?

4. Ignoring The Toxic Adults

We turn a blind eye to adult behavior. We punish students for being disrespectful, disruptive, or defiant. But when a teacher yells, belittles, or blatantly disrespects a student, we get real quiet. We excuse it. We justify it. Worse, some of us protect it.

There’s a dangerous form of mob mentality that festers in staff culture. It sounds like this: “She’s just old school.” “He doesn’t mean any harm.” “That’s just how they are.” And with every excuse, we collectively reinforce a message: harm is allowed if the person delivering it wears a staff ID.

You know who your colleague is—the one students actively avoid, the one families quietly complain about, the one whose name sparks anxiety in kids and discomfort in the room. And yet, you lie for them every day through your silence.

Here’s the truth: teachers cannot outsource accountability to administration. Culture is not a principal-only problem. It’s a collective responsibility. When we protect toxicity for the sake of adult comfort, we sacrifice student safety. We trade integrity for loyalty. And in doing so, we fracture the trust we claim to value.

The hardest part? Toxicity tolerated is toxicity taught. Students learn just as much from what we allow as from what we say.

And when they see us protect each other at their expense, they discover that the system is not built for them but to shield itself.

Ask yourself: Have we built a culture where kids are expected to emotionally shrink so adults can stay comfortable?

5. Silencing Feedback Loops

Feedback is one of the most powerful tools we have to shape culture. But too often, we mishandle it. We either pretend to ask for it while secretly avoiding it—or we drown in it, paralyzed by the pressure to please everyone.

Let’s be real: many schools “listen” in performative ways. We send out surveys we don’t read, hold listening sessions where no change ever follows, and ask for input while crafting decisions behind closed doors. That’s not listening. That’s managing optics.

But there’s another trap leaders fall into—over-listening to the point of inaction. Trying to be so democratic, so open, that we become indecisive. We collect every opinion, every perspective, and then never actually lead. In the name of being fair, we become passive. In the name of inclusion, we end up unclear.

Authentic leadership requires both humility and courage. The humility to truly hear, especially when the feedback stings, and the courage to act on what aligns with the vision, even when it’s unpopular.

Culture suffers when people feel ignored. However, it also suffers when leaders never commit.

Feedback isn’t a replacement for direction. It’s a guidepost, not a steering wheel.

And make no mistake: students and staff can feel the difference between being heard and being heeded. They know when their voice matters and when it’s just background noise for decisions already made.

Ask yourself: Am I gathering feedback to grow, or to delay having to decide?

It wasn't simple when I finally went back to clear out that brush. It took more tools, time, and intentionality than I expected. What was once hidden was now deeply rooted, tangled beneath the surface. I hadn’t solved the problem by ignoring it; I had given it permission to grow stronger.

The same is true in school leadership.

Whenever we delay the hard conversations, avoid accountability, or prioritize optics over honesty, we’re feeding the things that will eventually choke our culture. What we ignore doesn’t disappear. It deepens. It spreads. We soon find ourselves spending twice the time and energy trying to undo what we are allowed to grow.

As leaders, we live in the tension of pushing for progress while pulling up the roots that threaten it. Yes, we must cast vision. Yes, we must move forward. But not at the expense of what’s quietly unraveling beneath us.

Culture doesn’t collapse overnight. It erodes slowly when we mistake visibility for health, compliance for commitment, and silence for strength.

If we want to build something that lasts, we must get to the roots before they get to us.